


It's a Match!

by suckerfordeansfreckles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Baking, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Online Dating, Pining, Tinder, not really enemies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-20 18:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21061118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suckerfordeansfreckles/pseuds/suckerfordeansfreckles
Summary: Dean has seen the guy a handful of times, mostly at Charlie’s parties or when out and about with her — it’s only been six times that Dean is aware of, actually. Not that he counted. Well. He did, maybe, count a little.But that’s only because the guy is seriously gorgeous, and also seems to seriously hate Dean. Like, frowns and dark stares and leaving the room when Dean enters it. And that is most definitely the only reason why Dean keeps track of their meetings. It has nothing to do with the fact that, for whatever stupid reason, Dean feels all fuzzy and happy and warm around this stupid, scruffy, handsome, dark-haired and blue-eyed Cas-guy.Something about him just… does things to Dean’s head.





	It's a Match!

**Author's Note:**

> This was kind of inspired by the last episode of How To Get Away With Murder's season 4 - THERE ARE NO SPOILERS FOR THIS SHOW, THOUGH!!
> 
> Huge thank you to my loves [casbean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/casbean/pseuds/casbean) and [winchester-ofthe-lord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winchester_of_the_lord) for hyping me up and making me finish this! <3

Dean has seen the guy a handful of times, mostly at Charlie’s parties or when out and about with her — it’s only been six times that Dean is aware of, actually. Not that he counted. Well. He did, maybe, count a little. 

But that’s only because the guy is seriously gorgeous, and also seems to seriously hate Dean. Like, frowns and dark stares and leaving the room when Dean enters it. And that is most definitely the only reason why Dean keeps track of their meetings. It has _ nothing _to do with the fact that, for whatever stupid reason, Dean feels all fuzzy and happy and warm around this stupid, scruffy, handsome, dark-haired and blue-eyed Cas-guy. 

It started sometime during meeting number three, and Dean can’t really explain what exactly about the _ I would prefer to strangle you rather than having to listen to one more word of your story _ look it was, but Dean suddenly started looking forward to seeing Cas, even just from across the room. Even just listening in on Cas’ conversations with Charlie like a creep, keeping his distance but catching glimpses.

Even just bumping into him in the kitchen on his way to grab a beer, exchanging gruff “sorry”s before Cas hurries out of the room again. 

Something about him just… does things to Dean’s head.  


It’s another one of these days, today.

He would have come to this silly workshop at Charlie’s anyway, if he’s being honest. She wouldn’t really have let him stay home. But the fact that she conveniently mentioned that Cas would come, too, made even the last of Dean’s resolves melt.

And that should have been a lot of work, considering that the workshop is a “Medieval Baking Class”. Yes, Dean likes baking. But… what types of desserts did they even eat, during medieval times? Is it worth the struggle of baking things if they won’t turn out tasting like Dean’s apple-cinnamon pie anyway? 

But he’s here, kneading the dough he and Gilda have prepared to make bread and watching Cas, across the counter, licking raspberry juice off his finger where he’s making pastries with Kevin and Charlie. He’s here and desperately focusing all his willpower on not chubbing up in his pants as Cas pulls off of his middle finger with a pop of soft pink lips.

Fuck.

Fuck, Dean is so lost.

He tries, for a while, to keep his eyes away from Cas, who is now absolutely covered in flour, smudges on his shirt, his cheek and nose, even dusting his hair. His hands are a mess of white powder, but they are also… so broad, and gorgeous, and they look so skilled, folding the dough. 

Fuck.

Dean takes a step back and gestures for Gilda to take over the process of getting their dough into a decent shape. 

He _ needs _to focus on something else, anything else. 

And with being stuck here, he finds himself leaning back against a cabinet and pulling out his phone.

He needs to get laid, maybe, to forget this weird Cas-thing. Yes, that’s it. He’s gonna go look for someone he can wine and dine and then take home, someone who’ll make him forget about scruffy beards and ice-blue eyes. 

That’s how he finds himself opening Tinder, wondering how long it’s been since he last used the app. A month? Two? He hasn’t been feeling it, lately. But this is an emergency — or at least that’s what he has to tell himself.

Huh. Jenny, 24 — thin and blonde and has a nice smile. Nope.

Mark, 30 — dark hair and brown eyes, tons of muscles. Nope.

Sarah, 29 — looks very cute with that kid in her arm, but… Nope.

Hannah, 25 — red hair, green eyes — Nope.

Janet, 27 — No.

Ryan, 28 — blonde — _ Nope. _

And with the next swipe, Dean almost drops his phone. 

Because that — that’s Cas. That’s Cas.

Castiel, 26 — that’s _ Cas _. He looks fucking gorgeous in his first picture, wearing a black shirt and a jean jacket, smiling into the camera all soft and friendly. 

The second one is of him in a jean button up, stretching in front of a window —- and the way the sun hits him makes it look like rainbows are dancing across the bridge of his nose and his cheek. 

Dean has lost all control, so he clicks on the third and last picture, too. It’s another selfie, Cas in front of a small lake, wearing headphones and a soft, worn-looking grey AC/DC shirt. He looks like he made a quick stop in the middle of his run, just to take this picture, and he looks a little flushed and a little squinty and Dean’s heart races in his chest.

It shouldn’t be allowed, to be this goddamn gorgeous. Someone should arrest him, or something.

Dean clicks back to read Cas’ bio. 

Castiel, 26

Kindergarten teacher. 

Likes good food 🍔, being outside 🍂, going for runs 🏃🏻♂️ and animals 🐶🐱🐰. 

Not looking for ONS.

Dean snorts a little at the crazy amount of emojis, then feels his heart do a stupid little jump when he realizes that _ Cas _uses emojis. And then again, when he realizes that Cas is on Tinder and not looking for one night stands — but rather something serious?

God, this guy is ridiculously cute.

Dean can’t help it, he has to open up the pictures again. He’s staring at the rainbow covering Cas’ face when Gilda interrupts. 

“Hey, there, you lazy idiot. Gonna help me get this into the oven, or what?” she asks, shoving his shoulder, and Dean startles so hard, he almost drops his phone again.

“Yeah, just — A second,” he says, and then, panicking at almost having been caught, he screenshots the pictures as quickly as he can and then — he swears it’s all on the shock of _ seeing Cas on Tinder _— he swipes: Like.

He reaches up to lock his phone when it suddenly vibrates against his palm and then — 

It’s a Match!

And there’s his face, in a small bubble — right next to Cas’.

He and Cas matched. He liked Cas, and Cas… liked him? Cas _ liked _him. 

Cas liked him. As a joke? For shits and giggles? To say “Hello, how funny to see you here on Tinder. You must be pretty desperate to come here to meet people”?

Dean’s heart is racing and his hands start to shake, but his panic is interrupted by the loud ping of a phone, and when he looks up and across the counter, Cas is pulling his phone out of his front pocket and leaving smudges of flour on his jeans. 

He looks down with a frown that is gone again in a second, replaced by a look of wide-eyed wonder. And then he’s looking straight at Dean, right into his eyes, mouth opening as if to say something — and then closing again, at a loss of words.

Dean feels a cold shiver run down his spine, in stark contrast to the fire burning across his cheeks, and he realizes that he has to get out of this kitchen before he makes even more of a fool of himself.

“I, um. I need to make a call,” he announces to no one in particular. “I need to — I’ll be out back.”

And then he stumbles past Gilda and their lump of bread and out of the kitchen, into the hallway and further, until he reaches the patio door and slips it open to slide outside into the cool air of the evening.

He closes it behind his back and leans against the cold wall next to the glass door. 

The sun is almost down, bathing the backyard in a golden light that always makes the world feel a little magical.

Dean takes a deep breath, his phone still squeezed in his hand. When he looks down at it again, his breath rushes back out of him shakily. It really happened, then. Cas and him? No, it must have been a joke. 

But he’ll see soon, he supposes. If Cas comes out here to him, to talk, maybe…? If he stays inside and shows their friends, makes a laughing stock out of Dean, then — well, then Dean will have to live with that. Make it a joke, too. He can do that, probably.

He shoves his phone into his pocket, tips his head back against the wall and takes another deep breath. It must have been a minute or two, already. He waits with his hands clenched to fists by his sides, watching the world dim around him as the last rays of sun disappear.

He waits, and waits. 

Takes another look at his phone, realizes it has been ten minutes since he left. 

Maybe Charlie still has that secret stash of weed out here somewhere — he could really use a smoke, right now. She wouldn’t mind, if she knew the circumstances. And he can always just pay her back later.

He’s ducking down to look beneath the wooden table on the patio when he hears the glass door slide open behind him. 

His heart does a flip again, hoping it might be Cas, and in his nervous excitement he gets up way too fast and hits his head on the table — hard.

“Fuck,” he swears, hand coming up to his head as he shuffles back from the table and stands up. “Fucking shit, that hurt.”

He turns around, and then the words die on his tongue.

Because it really _ is _Cas, standing there, covered in flour and wringing his hands and looking at Dean with big blue eyes. He looks… nervous. Hopeful? 

“Hey, Cas,” he says, rubbing the throbbing spot on his head one last time before dropping his hand back to his side.

“Hello,” Cas says, still all gruff and deep. 

“I just —” Dean starts, the same second Cas starts to talk, too.

“Was this — Sorry, um, I wasn’t sure if this… Was it an accident, on your part?” 

And he looks so worried, almost a little broken, as he says it. It makes something in Dean flare up protectively. “No,” he says, a lot more certain than he feels. “No, not an accident, Cas. What about you?”

“No, it… Intentional, when I did it a few weeks ago,” he says softly, looking a little bashful.

“A — a few _ weeks _ ?” Dean blurts, fingers shaking. “Cas, I thought you _ hated _me.” 

“Yes, well. I thought you hated me too.” This time, his voice isn’t bashful at all, instead it almost sounds a little petulant.

“Well, I don’t!”

“Well. Good!” Cas frowns and looks absolutely too adorable doing so.

“Yes!” 

And then, with nothing else left to say, Dean stumbles into Cas’ arms and kisses him.

It’s soft, at first, just their lips gently pressing and testing. But then Cas wraps one arm around Dean’s middle, pulls him in until they fall back against the door and Dean is pressed up against him — and then it turns frantic.

Dean blames his desperation on all the weeks of pining, of shoving down his feelings and telling himself that it would never happen. He kisses Cas like has been aching to do for weeks, and Cas kisses back like he has been, too.

It’s hot and heavy and involves frantically grabbing hands, tongues and high pitched moans Dean will never admit he ever made — and he never wants to stop, ever again.

They both lose track of time, too wrapped up in each other, in lips and hands and grinding hips. Dean very quickly realizes that Cas’ hands are very, _ very _skilled with things other than dough and pastries, too, and he has to fight every single one of his instincts to not let this become more than heavy kissing out here on Charlie’s patio.

When they get back inside, eventually, after way too long to blame it on a phone call, their lips are kiss-swollen, their hair is crazy, their shirts are rucked up and there might just be a flour-handprint on Dean’s butt.

Dean has never been happier.

And he has a date, tomorrow night.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this silly thing!! <3 Thank you for reading!
> 
> There is a [rebloggable version](https://suckerfordeansfreckles.tumblr.com/post/188394416589/its-a-match-on-ao3-rating-teen-and-up-word) of this story on my [Tumblr](https://suckerfordeansfreckles.tumblr.com/) !


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